


Not Safe For Work... But Screw It

by maggiemae815



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-14
Updated: 2014-01-14
Packaged: 2018-01-08 18:44:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1136121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maggiemae815/pseuds/maggiemae815
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set after S1. Mickey's been out of jail for six days and hasn't seen Firecrotch once. His sweet tooth is aching and he goes to the Kash&Grab to get a fix.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not Safe For Work... But Screw It

**Author's Note:**

> this fic was inspired by perfectlystill (lj) "Things That Will Destroy". you don't have to read that for this to make sense but you REALLY should because (A) it's amazing, (B) there isn't enough Shameless US Ian/Mickey fic out there, so why miss a single one??, and (C) A&B are all the reasons I need.... did I mention it's amazing?
> 
> wrote this 2 years ago between the hours of 1 and 5 am and I'm not editing it so it is what it is. I hope you find it acceptable.

Six days since getting out and Mickey hadn't seen Gallagher once. He'd nipped the jailhouse visits in the bud (one of his fellow inmates asks who the kid is following their second visit together, and Mickey didn't think the guy bought his, "He works at the store where I got shot and now he won't leave me the fuck alone," spiel he spat at him) when Ian came to visit him a third time.

 

  
 _"Go the fuck away," Mickey hissed into the phone, eyes fixed on a smudge on the glass that covered Ian's left ear, the one not pressed to the phone._

_If he'd looked at Ian's faced he'd see two raised eyebrows and a bottom lip being worried between teeth._

_"Seriously," Mickey ground out into the silent air between them, wanting nothing more than to rip the phone out of the wall, "fuck off."_

_And with that he'd slammed the phone and stormed off, as well at his still-healing thigh allowed. The last glimpse he caught of Ian his brows had been furrowed over dark, slightly bewildered eyes, his (beautiful) lips forming a question Mickey never allowed him to ask._  
  


 

"Shit," Mickey cursed himself for thinking about that day, about the look on his face-FUCK, for thinking about Firecrotch at all. What was up with him being so put off that he hadn't seen him yet, anyway? And so what if he was kinda surprised that the kid hadn't yet seeked him out.

 

He put out his cigarette, turned up his music and convulsively clenched and unclenched his fists, trying to focus on the heavy metal and get his brain to shut the fuuuck up. He really shouldn't have done that coke. So much for a distraction. He'd been keeping himself busy since day one (READ: getting the jump on people, reconnecting with his moneymaking crew, scoping out new stores to rip off) and today he had downtime and decided to do some skiing and listen to loud music and just buzz out for a while. Instead this shit was making his brain do this thinking nonsense, and he couldn't understand how his thoughts were louder than the music.

 

"Turn that shit down, I'm watching a movie!" Mandy's voiced rang out, and he listened to her because she was DEFINITELY doing that bleed-for-seven-days-and-not-die bullshit thing girls do and he couldn't deal.

 

Fuck, Mandy. She was always going on and on about Ian, although Mickey hadn't given her a chance to since he got home.

 

When Mandy had picked him up he'd been surprised (not disappointed, shut the fuck up) that Gallagher wasn't there and he'd been unable to stop himself from saying so, in his own way.

 

  
 _"Guy's usually glued to your side, did he finally wise up and dump your crazy ass?"_

_She elbowed him in the ribs and he huffed out a laugh before catching her with her neck in his elbow, threatening to give her a noogie._

_"Mickey I will rip your fucking eyes out and replace them with your testicles if you don't let me go," she breathed out, and Mickey was proud when he almost believed her._

_She pushed him back when he loosened his grip._

_"Asshole. Ian and I are still together," (he held in his eye roll and ignored the pang in that hollow area of his chest) "but he's in class right now."_

_He grunted instead of responding, 'cause what the fuck does he care, and changed the subject to how much booze was in the house and what their Dad was up to._  
  


 

Mickey was on his feet before he knew what he was doing, and was just about to stuff on his shoes when he thought for a minute. He had decided that he was going to give the Kash&Grab a visit but... maybe he should shower? But like, what the fuck for, right; he was just craving a chocolate bar. You know, some revenge style shop lifting.

 

He doubted Kash would pull some shit again, and Mickey had a lot of posturing to get out of his system. So yeah, why should he shower? Except it was summer, so it was hot and humid and he was already sticky so if he was gonna head out he might as well start off fresh, yeah?

 

He took a lukewarm shower, pretty much just a rinse off, (why the hell should he put in effort, he's just cooling down) and put on a semi-clean black wifebeater, some old cargos, and his steel toed boots. After grabbing his wallet he beelined for the front door, his sister's curious shout nothing but muffled sound over the buzzing of his nerves.

 

He stopped at the bottom of the front steps. Nerves? The Milkovich's don't get nerves. What the fuck? He was just getting a damn candy bar! Mickey shook his head, unclenched his jaw, and started walking into the muggy streets of Chicago. He only knew one thing for sure- he was never doing coke again.

 

* * *

 

Mickey flicked the (third in a row) cigarette he'd just finished into the gutter, spitting on the ground and actively unclenching his jaw for the nth time. Seriously, never again.

 

He hates that he can't get a view in to the store, even when the door is open, from this angle. It doesn't help that he's standing (READ: hiding) half behind a parked eighteen wheeler. Maybe he was having some PTSD episode, since he got shot there. Whatever, screw that noise: he was going in.

 

He stepped off the curb and into the beaming sunlight, the heat of which seemed to aid in fueling his determination. Feeling his adreneline surge just before his hand touched the door, Mickey swung it open and stepped in to Kash&Grab. When his eyes landed on Ian alone behind the counter, and a quick scan told him the place was empty, he deflated a bit and headed towards the cold drinks area. He needed to cool down again.

 

* * *

 

Mickey hadn't missed the surprised and almost hopeful look on Firecrotch's face when he'd swaggered (READ: no really, Mickey has a BAMF swagger) into the joint, and he sure as hell wasn't imagining the sound of feet headed... towards the door? And then he heared a lock click and the swish of the 'Closed' side of the sign being presented. Between the coke and the muggy summer heat turning Kash&Grab into a stale aired half conditioned box Mickey was suddenly hit that, fuck, he hadn't gotten off properly in seven.fucking.months.

 

Then the footsteps were headed towards him and he closed his eyes, couldn't watch Ian's approach in the reflection of the glass. Didn't know what he would do when he did finally look the kid (the damn scrawny, freckled, fiery haired and souled kid who had become a damn earworm Mickey couldn't dig out) in the eye.

 

Mickey felt a presence behind him but didn't move, and opened his eyes only to make it seem like he was looking at the different pop choices. "Not attached to Mandy's hip lately," he stated, but he thinks there's a question in there. Always on the ball, the redhead answered quietly.

 

"Classes. Work. Been busy."

 

It stays silent for a minute, and Mickey has now moved to the next window of choice, making himself read each and every label so he doesn't open his mouth and say something stupid.

 

"Mickey," it's a whisper, and then he heared a cough and the voice speaks again, stronger this time. "What are you doing here?"

 

Mickey shrugged. "Needed to cool down."

 

And then out of nowhere he grabbed for a can of ice cold (the mountains are light blue) Coors Light and reached to snap it open, but a hand landed on his. Looking over his shoulder indignantly (Mandy has been practicing vocab words- LOUDLY) Mickey felt his dick (it had started to salute the second Mickey saw him, shutthehellupsevenmonths) twitch at the sight of Ian's knowing eyes and half-smirk.

 

"I have something better than beer," he said, and when did the kid's voice get so low? And what the fuck, he got tall. And buff! Mickey observed all the changes that had occured in Ian since he got locked up, and found his throat wasn't working well. He had sound enough mind to keep his face schooled into a look of indifference, and to follow Ian towards the- "Fuck. No."

 

"Kash is gone, Mickey. It's different now."

 

Ian had already spoken too many words, and Mickey could not lie to himself anymore and knew that he needed Ian to get on him but that was where they got caught. And then Mickey got shot.

 

"Linda's bedridden, she leaves me in charge. Fuck the rest. Let's go."

 

"Less fucking talking, then," Mickey grunted out, and then they were in the cooler and Ian's chest was pressed to his back and pale, sure hands were undoing Mickey's pants, underneath which his bare cock was leaking.

 

Ian wrapped one hand around it and reached his other to undo his own pants. Mickey heard them fall to the floor and then the firecrotch was once again rubbing against his ass and his whole body twitched. Ian let out a moan and Mickey leaned forward, grabbing the shelf exactly as he had in that other life where Kash caught them.

 

But this time Ian pulled him back and stripped his shirted off, only to turn Mickey around to face him.

 

A pair of lips was on his for the first time in years and Mickey felt a pitiful sound start at the back of his throat. He swung his right fist, clipping his own chin in an effort to get Ian off of him. The hands that had rested loosely on his waist came up and grabbed his biceps, Ian's head jerking to the side. Then he was pushing Mickey back until he hit a wall. He hissed at the cold and went to swing again, but he felt off kilter and his feet were all twisted up in his boots and cargos so he gave himself a second to get his bearing, and when he did Ian was on his knees, wrapping his lips around the head of Mickey's cock.

 

* * *

 

"I fucking told you," he panted out after shooting down Ian's throat, (in less than 3 minutes (7months!)) "that I would cut out your tongue if you tried to kiss me." He tried to sound pissed off, but seriously. He was still itching to get that firecrotch pressed firmly against his ass while Ian fucked in to him.

 

"I think I just showed you why you of all people should want my tongue to remain right where it is," Ian husked out, and Mickey's eyes dropped to the younger man's cock, the angry purple head and that big vein that Mickey swore he could feel through the condom.

 

"I'm not totally convinced" Mickey said, before he arranged their clothes in a way that he can kneel on them and not be completely against the cold floor. With his own shirt under his hands, he pressed his ass into the air and didn't even have to wait a second before Ian's mouth was on him, giving his right cheek an opened mouth kiss.

 

"Get the fuck on with it," he grunted out.

 

Ian licked a long stripe up his crack and he grunted again, fisting his hands in the shirt. Ian takes his time like he likes to, nibbling at his hole, licking circles around it, and Mickey was about to lose his shit when the tongue lifted away and he felt two large, warm hand squeeze each globe and spread him further. Ian's thumbs pressed his hole open and he felt something warm and wet drop and oh, his whole body shivered. Ian dropped his head back down, one hand keeping a firm Mickey's cheek, a thumb holding open his hole, while the other hand was presented to Mickey. He wet the fingers in his mouth as well as he could with the distraction of Ian's tongue stabbing into his hole.

 

Mickey felt Ian press his whole thumb in, and the fingers left his mouth. Then he feels a wet digit being pressed against his hole alongside the thumb and he bit his forearm to keep from whimpering.

 

Soon Ian pulled his thumb out and there are three spit slick fingers in his ass, and Mickey felt like screaming in frustration but doesn't unclamp his teeth from his arm. Ian stretched him with clear determination. Mickey was once again leaking, nearly at his climax already as Ian alternated between fucking Mickey with his hand and scissoring his fingers open slow. Finally Mickey gave and gasped out, "Get the fuck on me."

 

A condom covered dick was being pushed against his entrance and without a second thought Mickey grabbed the back of Ian's right thigh and pulled on him as he pushed his ass back.

 

"Oh fuck Mick, shit, missed this," Ian choked out, and that was it for both of them. Ian started pounding into him and even with his face buried in the crook of Mickey's sounds rang clear in the cool room. Ian wrapped both arms around Mickey's chest and pulled him flush against his own, their torsos pressed firmly together as Ian gave deep, staccatoed thrusts of his hips.

 

"'m not gonna last," he whispered hotly into Mickey's ear, and Mickey reached to wrap a hand around his own cock, letting out huffs of air and moans.

 

"Fuck, Mickey," Ian moaned, lacing his fingers with Mickey's on the older man's cock. "So good."

 

"Ungh," Mickey let out as his second orgasm hit him, static filled his brain, and he felt his body shudder as Ian gave five, oh shit, six more thrusts against his prostate and then his hips were grabbed as Ian slammed into him then ground their hips together, the aftershocks racing wildly through their veins.

 

* * *

 

They grabbed up their clothes and dressed quickly, the cool air feeling prickly against their oversensitized skin, and walked on wobbly legs out into the store.

 

"Ian?! Ian, where the fuck are you?"

 

Mickey froze as Linda's tinny voice filled the store. Ian walked quickly to the counter and grabbed up the walkie-talkie, and Mickey relaxed a little.

 

"Sorry, I was in the bathroom. I'm not feeling well," he spoke into the handheld device.

 

"Doesn't she have this whole place recorded?" Mickey asked, except you know the cooler, bathroom and break room. Ian had told him that once.

 

"Suck it up. I'm trusting you to not run my business into the ground. I'll be coming down to check on things tomorrow. Close up in an hour if you're still not feeling well."

 

Mickey made a face at how changable all women's emotions seemed to be. And this one was pregnant.

 

"Alright Linda, I will."

 

"Is that Mickey Milkovich?" And there went the rest of Mickey's post-coital buzz. How much had she seen? Ian seemed to know Mickey was about to split, because his eyes got wide.

 

"He's applying for a job!" Ian rushed out, and Mickey's eyes went wide as well. What in the ever loving-?

 

"He has to get one because of probation (how did he know that, Mickey wanted to know) and it could be a redemption tale of sorts. He doesn't plan to do anything stupid."

 

Everything's sort of went quiet and Mickey started feeling that way, like when you're having one of those bad highs and if you attempt to move even an inch your heart races, your head gets really dizzy, and your skin feels hot all over.

 

Work at the place he got shot, with the guy who he fucked pretty regularly before 7month lock up hell, and kind of got shot over and is now- what? His once again fuck buddy?

 

It wasn't the coke made his damn thoughts go all speedracer. It was the fucking guy standing in front of him flipping his life upsi-

 

"If one fucking thing goes missing Mickey, I swear to everything YOU hold dear that you will regret it. And I'm not paying you anything more than $9 an hour."

 

Mickey found he could move enough to make a shocked face, because that isn't much but it's well over minimum wage and he'd be, what, sitting around with Ian all day?

 

"I could be security," he spoke his thought, and then repeated himself for Linda when Ian brought the device up.

 

She let a scoff sound through the connection, but said, "You'll start tomorrow. 7 am with Ian."

 

"'kay," he said and backed away from Ian as he said goodbye to Linda.

 

"What the fuck did you just get me in to Firecrotch?" Mickey asked, instead of the many other questions he had. (How did you know about my probation? Just where do these cameras point? Why was Linda immediately willing to give me over minimum wage?)

 

Ian, sort of grown up little Ian Gallagher, with his new haircut and his new muscles and his new inches (his hands and cock had grown, Mickey was sure of it) just gave him a shiteating grin before motioning his head towards the break room.

 

"There's no camera in there," his cocky tone obvious.

 

Mickey tried to stop his own smirk, but he failed pretty miserably.

 

"There goes my summer," he said before swaggering towards and unlocking the front door. And if he could practically feel Ian's eyes on his ass the whole time, well, they had a lot of time to pass together stretched out in front of them.

 

Mickey wanted to punch the smile off of his own face. What the hell had Gallagher done to him?


End file.
